


Let's see here

by MiryelENG (Miryel)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Bottom Marco Bott, Depression, Fire, Jearco - Freeform, M/M, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein-centric, POV Jean Kirstein, Post Marco's death, Suicide Attempt, Yaoi, aot - Freeform, attack on titan - Freeform, jeanmarco, shingeki no kyojin - Freeform, snk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 03:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miryel/pseuds/MiryelENG
Summary: Marco was alone, and Jean knows perfectly well why.He knows why he wasn't there, ready to shield him, at the exact moment when that Giant devoured him in half. Marco was in the middle, and Jean's soul as well.No. No, bullshit, his soul isn't there, it's somewhere else.Who knows where...His eyes are busy looking elsewhere. His fingers are intent on undoing every single belt of the uniform that tightens on Marco's thighs. He's unbuttoning every button on his shirt. Opens the closure of the shoulder straps; free the skin of his neck, putting his head in the collar, biting the sensitive area under the ear. A moan escapes Marco and he clings to him, with trembling fingers, wrapped around his shirt; if he pulls him, begs him to kiss him. Jean dies inside. The heart stings. The head bursts. The hands are shaking.[Jeancentric - angst - Jean/Marco]
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Kudos: 11





	Let's see here

**Let's see here**

"ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵈⁱᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶜʳʸ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗⁿⁱⁿ '  
ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵉᵈˡᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ᵉʸᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ  
ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ᵃ ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵗ ˡⁱᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ  
ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱᵍʰᵗ »  
ʸᵘⁿᵍᵇˡᵘᵈ ⁻ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵏⁱᵉˢ

"Marco is dead."

Eren asks him how. Eren asks him why, and Jean replies as if he hasn't really lost him. As if it hadn't happened, as if Marco was still there, next to him, holding his right hand, just one step away from him.

He tells him that Marco died alone, that no one was beside _him_ \- that _he was_ not beside him; did not save him. No, that doesn't say it. It is uncomfortable, cruel. He already has enough guilt without these being expressed aloud. Because he didn't die because of him, but he could have avoided it, even at the cost of his own life, if it were necessary, but Marco was alone, and Jean knows perfectly well why.

He knows why he wasn't there, ready to shield him, at the exact moment when that Giant devoured him in half. Marco was in the middle, and Jean's soul as well.

No. No, bullshit, his soul isn't there, it's somewhere else.

_Who knows where..._

His eyes are busy looking elsewhere. His fingers are intent on undoing _every single belt_ of the uniform that tightens on Marco's thighs. He's unbuttoning every button on his shirt. Opens the closure of the shoulder straps; free the skin of his neck, putting his head in the collar, biting the sensitive area under the ear. A moan escapes Marco and he clings to him, with trembling fingers, wrapped around his shirt; if he pulls him, begs him to kiss him. Jean dies inside. The heart stings. The head bursts. The hands are shaking.

Whenever they do it is a labyrinth of fear and pleasure. Each time they do it feels like the first, but also the last time.

Every time he tastes the taste of his skin he feels faint. He wants more, and more, and more ... he can't do without it, Marco makes him addict and annihilates him, destroys him, sucks away his dignity, courage, fear and _everything else_ .

There is only him, chained to his eyes, wide open on him; the raised eyebrows, the half-open mouth asking only _for more. More and more. Yet. Don't stop, Jean. Not now._

The freckles under the eyes shine in the darkness of that barn, where they hide at night to make love and forget everything else. Where they stay for hours talking about everything; even _of nothing_ . Of them, of the others, and then they share silences.

Marco's forehead is beaded with sweat. Indulge the thrusts by moving your pelvis against Jean's. He bends down and leaves him a kiss on the cheekbone, then on the lips, on which he abandons a moan that he cannot close in the rib cage.

Marco is alive. Marco has never been so alive as in that moment.

His eyes say it, that hand that Jean has raised above his head and that he clasps his, says it, while making room inside him; while Marco holds back noises, biting his lip.

"Jean ..." He calls him, and his voice is an echo that breaks the evils of the world. He doesn't want anything; Marco doesn't want anything, just that you look at him. He doesn't want promises, he doesn't want answers, he doesn't want certainties. _He just wants me to watch it_ . Because Jean doesn't sometimes, when holding those stars on him is the closest thing to the end of the world.

"I'm here," he murmurs, and kisses his forehead. He slows down the thrusts, bends over him and gently engulfs him. He is clumsy, he has never been able to express his feelings, but with Marco he has chosen to try, to melt, to be even what he is not. He would do anything for Marco, _even die._

"Jean," he calls him again, and he stops. It is lost in his determined gazes, in the explosive spark that gives him life. Marco is imprinting it on himself like a tattoo, he wants to live it, engrave it in the heart.

Jean knows this, and is afraid of _why._ And he will discover the answer only in a couple of days, when he finds himself in front of him, fallen in battle. Dead alone. For anyone and with anyone.

Without the possibility of salvation, without him being there to help him. To save him. To ensure a long life next to him.

"When we're fighting I'd rather we weren't together." He told him once, lying next to him - the back of his head resting on his chest. Fingers busy releasing anxiety by teasing the cuticles with their nails. A vice he always had when he was nervous.

"What? Why?"

"Because I would not be able to take initiatives other than to protect you. It would just be a distraction for both of us. "

"I know how to defend myself, Marco."

"Yes, I know. That's not the point, though. "

Jean snorts in amusement, but can't keep a note of annoyance in his voice. “Don't you believe enough in my abilities? You were talking about seeing me as a leader and now you even tell me that I need to be protected."

“I believe in your abilities, but you are as human as I am. If you risk your life, I don't stand still and I know you wouldn't. That's all."

_That's all. Is that all?_

"Wouldn't we do it with anyone?"

“Maybe yes, but it's different, Jean. You are not _anyone_. "

_No, I'm not anyone. Even you are anyone. You are all. Damn you, you are everything. Everything!_

"Whatever happens, let's see _here_ ."

"Yes, I will not fail." Jean replied gratefully. Then he kissed it and the world disappeared again.

And that barn no longer has the flavor it used to be. There are no smells, images, memories. There is nothing. Not even Marco's soul waiting for him as it should have.

 _"Let's see here,"_ and this _one_ has never really existed.

He would like that rural building to vanish forever. He would like to destroy all traces of that place that, for a while, he called _home_ . He would like to stand there, in the middle, start a fire and let himself be burned. Swallow from the flames. To disappear. Disintegrate.

He would like, but he is too cowardly to do so.

So he chooses the Research Corps and eventually he will find death elsewhere. He will fight with every single cell of his body, with all the strength he has and then he will leave that world, killed by what has already taken everything away from him.

"Marco is dead," he repeats to himself, in a low voice, as if hearing it from his own voice made him less real. _And I don't feel here anymore._

**_The End_ **


End file.
